Be Okay
by reef112
Summary: Can't complain about much these days, I believe we'll be okay. Kurt has left New York for a once in a lifetime job opportunity, leaving Rachel alone in the loft, three months into Funny Girl. Rachel is living her broadway dream- so why does it feel like she's on the sidelines watching? She's needs a wake up call Mash up of season 5 and 6- set mainly in New York
1. Chapter 1

It was way past midnight when Rachel returned to the loft alone.

It was Saturday night- well Sunday morning and she felt grateful she didn't have to perform again until Monday. Eight shows a week, two on Fridays and Saturdays. This was her dream. This is what she wanted. Funny Girl was enjoying an unprecedented run, it had been three months since opening night. Despite taking Rachel back after her FOX audition fiasco, Sidney was still keeping her on a tight leash. She had the feeling he had agreed not to fire her out of necessity not by choice. Over the last three months Rachel has been eating, sleeping and breathing Fanny Bryce. The look in Sidney and the other producers eyes when they look at her, further commits to the role. It's a bittersweet cocktail of disappointment, disgust and admiration. And it's all her fault. The stupidity of her actions only occurred to her after the deed was done, after she realized what a flop the audition was. There was no way she was right for that role, that was clear from the moment she opened her mouth to sing. Who knew a TV show called _Song of Solomon _wouldn't actually involve singing. For about eight hours, she truly believed she had made the right decision, and that she; like many small town, abnormally attractive, neurotic girls who come to New York City seeking fame and fortune, could indeed have it all. That bubble burst with even the slightest touch. It occurred to Rachel that she should have listened to Kurt.

She has a similar thought around this same time every night she comes home to the empty loft. Overwhelmed by the silence and stillness of the place this time of night- it felt almost hollow without Kurt and Santana there, or anyone for that matter.

"Not that you're here to say I told you so…" Rachel said just loud enough for her to hear her own exhausted voice, but quiet enough that she could deny those words were ever spoken to any possible unexpected listener. Not that there was any. Rachel wasn't in anyway bitter about Kurt's absence; she was ecstatic for him. But that didn't mean she wasn't missing him. Chicago was the furthest Kurt had been from Rachel in five years. NYADA's work experience program, and his internship at secured him a job at Chicago's leading theatre company. Rachel tried desperately to get Kurt a job with the producers of Funny Girl, but Kurt so quickly pointed out the still volatility of their relationship, which in fact was built upon a 'righteous power-struggle for the ages', and that it would be so easy to fall back into old squabbles in the inevitable high pressure situations. It was apparent to Rachel that Kurt wanted to get out of the city for a while, after his break up with Blaine, and if he wanted to work in theater it was probably best done off Broadway- the whole city was buzzing with accolades for Funny Girl and its new star Rachel Berry.

So Chicago it was.

Thoughts of Kurt flooded through her mind as she filled the teapot and put it on the stove- a post show ritual. No matter how hard she tried she couldn't quite make the tea as good as Kurt. Was it the extra lemon, or a tad too much honey? Or maybe just the fact that she didn't have to do it herself. It was too late to call now; she made a mental note to call in the morning before work. She let the tea brew and took a long shower, washing away the flush from the stage lights, letting the ringing in her ears dissipate with every drop of hot water that came cascading down her face, she felt all the important mental notes she made during the day (Kurt included) come flooding out of her ears, and watched them circle the drain before quickly disappearing from sight. Rachel felt better already. She smiled a quaint peaceful smile, a look in her eye radiating gratitude. When she finally got out of the shower, steam filled the small bathroom, hugging her tightly as she wiped the mirror clear to be greeted by her own familiar reflection. She took a deep breath as she pulled her McKinley tank, silently acknowledging the word tattooed on her ribs, as she did every night, _Finn, _then went to the living room to stretch. She poured her tea, before sitting cross-legged on the Persian rug Kurt picked out at the flea market, stretching out her hips, shoulders, and calves. All things considered she was feeling pretty good. She worked hard, looked after herself, and still made time to enjoy experiencing some of her dreams that were appearing to be coming true. It still continued to surprise her, she still had surreal moments, where she couldn't believe the life she had been swept up in. Like the moment when she's on stage after "_Don't Rain on my Parade" _and can finally look out to the crowd. Every time it shocks her, seeing the looks on peoples faces, when part of her is still expecting to see her own teenage reflection looking back at her as she sings into her golden hairbrush. God, she was such a dork- Santana would agree that she still is.

She felt her body start to loosen up, her shoulders relaxed- the tension she was holding in them had disappeared. She sat in silence for a while, sipping her tea, as the city moved and hummed around her. The windows creaked; she could hear traffic, and the constant city sounds that always seemed to be floating through air- inseparable from the night itself. From her position on the floor she thumbed through a crate of records, last nights soundtracks were still scattered delicately on the rug: Celine Dion, Joni Mitchel and Kate Nash. She smiled at the obvious choices she had made the night before, the perfect music for her sleepy, melancholic sadness. Like brewing tea, and stretching, records had become a part of her 'wind down' routine. Santana brought the record player home one day, mumbling something about stealing it from Dani after she left town. Rachel never took much notice of it, admiring the obvious art of music on vinyl from a distance: but still she found it an inconvenient way of listening to music. She didn't see the appeal of having to listen to a whole album through just to listen to the one song you actually wanted to listen to in the first place. As someone who knew just the right song for any mood or moment, most of which were recorded by strong, independent, empowering women, she had trouble relinquishing control. She never mentioned this to Santana however; she seemed to have some powerful connection to the idea.

Most of the records in the loft were Santana's (the Joni Mitchell, obviously) but Rachel had begun to add to the collection as she fell more and more in love with the old machine (the Celine Dion, obviously). Rachel had grown to appreciate listening to an album. She took comfort in listening to music in its rawest form, as the artist intended it before the digital age remixed, shuffled and re-released it. All credit to Mr Shue and his "mash-ups", but Rachel had learnt a lot about music on the floor in that loft. She put last nights back in the crate and made her next choice_: Tapestry_, Carole King. As she set the needle to play the A side, she reached for Santana's headphones and put them on. Immediately the sounds of the city fell away, and Rachel was drowned by incredible silence, something extremely rare in New York City. She sat in a cool anticipation waiting for the familiar sounds of the record crack and whirr, and the comfort it was known to bring. Rachel sighed and smiled. Letting her tea go cold, she was fast asleep on a pile of cushions before track three.

When she woke the next morning, she was greeted by the dull New York sunlight battling to break through the clouds. As familiar she was with this situation, waking up this way every morning for the last two weeks, something felt different. Her tea was cold, the record was stuck in a melodious crackle through the abandoned headphones, and her neck felt a little stiff: nothing new. Rachel's mind was cloudy with obvious sleepiness, but she thought it must be the sun. It was brighter today, she thought, hoped; it just might break through those heavy blanket clouds. Bound with a bright new optimism, Rachel stretched out from her spot on the floor. She was ripped out of her smooth morning slumber by a sharp, familiar voice, slicing through the silence of the loft like a knife.

"My god Berry, you're five cats, and a home haircut away from being too bitter for the _too young to be bitter club" _


	2. Here comes the sun

Rachel jumped about a foot when she heard a voice coming from the doorway. Someone was in her apartment. Someone had gotten in her apartment without her noticing. How could she let that happen? Her heart practically lunged out of her chest- like a sailor abandoning a sinking ship, or an eager skydiver leaping from a perfectly good airplane. Her heart had said: _"screw you, I'm out of here!"_ In her mind she was running through all the potential ways the next few seconds could play out, could she make it to the fire escape? Who was this person, could she fight them? While that last one was laughable to everyone Rachel knew, she did have pepper spray in her purse… which was in her room. Rachel spent a total of three seconds deliberating her inner turmoil before she realized who it was standing in her kitchen.

"Oh my god, Santana!" Rachel yelled in the same amount of time it took her to reach her old roommate. She pulled her into an automatic hug.

"What are you doing here?!" Rachel asked releasing her vice like grip on the other girl. She heard Santana sigh in relief as she pulled away, but she had a smile on her face.

"What are you talking about Berry? This is my home" Santana stated nonchalantly before turning to rifle through the fridge. Like she'd just woken up and stumbled into the kitchen; like nothing had changed. Like she'd lived her for years, done that very same thing everyday for as long as she'd lived.

"Plus I heard on the good old fashion New Directions grapevine that Lady Hummel has finally answered the call of _the_ gayest theatre company in all of the country, in the hopes that he will spread his somewhat mediocre talents with ten to fifteen people, three nights a week in the worst city in America, and it looks to me that Hummel Pie left some prime real estate.."

She said, as she started to eat some of Rachel's takeout from the day before, vaguely gesturing in the direction of Kurt's room.

"It was only a matter of time"

Rachel smiled at the other girl. Ignoring more than half of the things that came out of Santana's mouth, was just something she had gotten used to. Santana had no filter system between her mouth and her brain. So it was up to whoever she was talking to, to sift through all the white lies, thinly veiled insults, and snarky comments to get to the real meaning. Rachel knew that about seventy percent of the time the things Santana said came from a good place, the other thirty percent, Rachel thought, were just out of pure entertainment. It took about two years to understand the way that Santana works, and learn not to take anything she says too seriously.

"Where's Brittney? How was your vacation? We had no idea that you were even coming back to New York"

Rachel asked, yawning and cracking her neck. She really should start sleeping in her own bed. She started to make some coffee, conscious of the time. Rachel had to be at the diner in an hour. If she was going to get through this day, with only a couple of hours sleep on hardwood floor, she would need to commence her caffeine intake as soon as possible. Santana brought her bags in from the hall and pulled the heavy industrial door shut, setting her guitar case down on the couch.

"While the Greek island of Lesbos wasn't, in fact, an island full of lesbians like Brit first suggested, it was indeed magical, and filled with sweet lady kisses."

Santana sighed brushing off the question. Taking a cup of coffee and dragging her suitcase into Kurt's partition of the loft, pulling back the curtain and looking around. She had never cared for small talk, especially not when Brittney was involved. Rachel followed, with her own mug of coffee, in protest.

" But Kurt.."

"I'm gonna stop you right there Funny Girl, before you unleash your deep deep inner monologue about this space being occupied by Peter Pan incarnate himself, before you feel the need to share the pain that the void created by his absence causes you- and enlighten me about your high hopes for his all too timely return- which will cause you both to burst spontaneously into one of your dusty old show tunes made famous by Yentl herself. In the meantime, while we both wait with bated breath for that to happen; I lived here for too long, surprising paying rent, to sleep on a mattress in the corner. So as soon as I de-gay all of this…"

Santana paused to gesture around the impeccable, thoughtfully designed room.

"… I will be occupying my rightful place"

Rachel just stood rooted in her spot, taking all of this in. Santana moved through the loft like a cyclone; leaving her words and Kurt's various belongings in her wake. This was all too much to deal with, this early in the morning. Rachel knew once Santana got an idea in her mind, she couldn't be stopped. Like becoming Rachel's understudy in Funny Girl. It was a quality that Rachel admired most of the time, because it was a quality they both shared. Rachel huffed and finished the dregs of her coffee. Ready for another cup she headed back to the kitchen.

"Just don't throw anything out, you know what he's like when it comes to his 'spaces'…" Rachel trailed off, in defeat.

"… And he _will _be back, it's only for a couple of months"

Partly mocking Kurt's flamboyance, and stubborn design ideas, and partly reassuring herself that Kurt is coming back to New York.

As she drank her second coffee of the morning in the kitchen, listening to the sound of traffic mingled in with the sound of Kurt's things being strewn across the apartment; Rachel couldn't help but smile. An hour ago she was living inside her own little quiet, somewhat lonely, loft filled with the spirits of aging (or dead) female singer- songwriters. Now, the place was instantly filled with familiar sounds, and memories of her old friends. She didn't have her best friend back; he was still what felt like a world away. Instead she had a firey Latina, who couldn't be less like Kurt if you paid her. When the three of them lived in the loft together, Santana played the part of disgruntled roommate, always making snarky comments about their sing-alongs, and movie marathons. While Santana's ability to speak strictly in insults impressed Rachel, it also worried her. It was no secret that they had a history of 'disagreements', for lack of a better word. But Rachel felt that they had come a long way, and considered Santana well and truly a friend. When Rachel skipped a show to go to LA for that audition, Santana stepped in to save the show- and Rachel's Broadway career. Even though it hadn't worked out the way she had hoped and planned, Santana had her back- surprisingly free from any catch or potential blackmail. Santana, above all, was a reminder of home, and the glee club, and a time that had such an impact on her life. As far as Rachel was concerned she was welcome here, in the loft- and in Rachel's life.

Rachel had so many questions running through her mind as she got ready for work, but she had to dismiss them all when she realized she was already late. She had gotten caught up arguing with Santana about what to do with the remained of Kurt's stuff. Santana wanted to throw it in the dumpster in the alley way behind the building. Rachel reminded her that all the belongings Santana had left here when she disappeared with Brittney were indeed still where she left them. Santana just shrugged off that comment, saying something along the lines of: "_that's because I'm awesome and not so deep down you both hoped that I would make my triumphant return into your lives". _

Rachel didn't have time for any of Santana's antics; she was so late. She ran out of the loft grabbing her purse and slipping on her shoes, stopping to glance at her reflection only for a second, before yelling out goodbye to Santana and shutting the door.

Her shift passed relatively quickly. The diner was busy all day, so Rachel felt like she hadn't stopped moving since nine this morning. She kept her head down, and a smile on her face, losing herself a little in the monotony of her day job. She didn't have to keep working at Spotlight, she was getting paid more than enough to get by, but she found a strange peace in coming to work during the day, and being on stage at night. Call it 'paying her dues' or hard work. Balance, that's what it was. Rachel was the first to admit that she could get caught up in her own ego and 'stardom'. With Kurt not around to take her down a few pegs when she got to big for herself, she needed the normalcy that the diner provided. There's nothing like getting spearmint milkshake spilled on your dress, or abused by a customer over the ply count in the napkins, to bring you back to reality.

Plus she got to sing everyday; keeping her voice well practiced on days she didn't perform. Spotlight was also a great place for networking. A lot of theatre critics, producers, and directors ate there. Just last week, Rachel and her co-workers had sung the hit _You're Never Fully Dressed Without a Smile_\- from Annie the musical to Tom Cannon, the producer of Wicked. That was the best introduction Rachel could have hoped for. On more than one occasion, Rachel had heard someone talking about her performance the night before- mostly good, some constructive. Taking off her apron, and clocking off; she said goodbye to Gunther. He was cursing her for not picking up a double shift as he always did. Rachel just smiled, and kissed the older man on his cheek sweetly.

"You'll survive Gunther, you always do…" Rachel said slinging her bag over her shoulder, walking out the swinging doors. She was overwhelmed by the sunlight still radiating down on her the minute she stepped outside, despite it being five o'clock. She smiled up at the sky, relieved and overwhelmed that the sunshine had come back into her life.

Rachel walked the long way to the subway. She detoured past Mario's and picked up a pizza, knowing that Santana wouldn't have done anything about dinner, her groaning stomach getting the better of her. Mario's was a couple of blocks away from the diner; "_the best pizza on Broadway" _the sign said. Rachel had to agree. She and Kurt made a habit of going there after her second show on Saturdays, just to unwind and indulge. Turned out Mario was a huge fan of Funny Girl, and theatre in general; so he was always hospitable. There was a little part of him that reminded Rachel of her Italian heritage, which provided a huge comfort in a lonely city. She thanked him, when he gave her extra garlic bread with a sweet smile.

"Oh Mario, you're trying to fatten me up" She always joked. Rachel knew that wasn't possible, with the amount of cardio she was doing day in day out, but she enjoyed teasing the older man. She left Mario's and walked past the St. James Theatre. She couldn't help but smile, how could she not? Her name on that playbill. She felt like she would never get tired of seeing her name in lights. She grinned and pulled her coat around her tighter, the New York chill starting to set in.

By the time she made it home it was just after six. It felt good sitting on the subway, it was only then she realized how tired she was. She trudged up the stairs, pushing thoughts of her aching feet out of her mind. She unlocked the door, balancing the pizza in her left hand and using her leg to slide the heavy door open. She was instantly hit with an influx of scents and sounds that she wasn't used to.

Santana.

"Hey, I'm home" She called out knowing Santana was somewhere. The familiar sound of the old record player greeted her, playing some up-tempo rock song that Rachel didn't recognize. She set the pizza on the kitchen table and kicked off her shoes as Santana emerged from Kurt's bedroom.

"Ah, she comes bearing food. I'm famished, who knew that banishing all things Teen Gay from this apartment would be so rigorous " Santana said with an over surprised look on her face, grabbing two plates and napkins, before opening the box.

"…and Mario's too, this could be the start of a somewhat mediocre, yet beneficial friendship- Kudos Berry"

Santana nodded in approval, like she had just said the nicest words anyone has ever spoken. She dished out a slice of pizza onto plates, as Rachel went to shower and get out of her uniform.

Rachel found Santana on the couch, eating her second slice of pizza, grinning in approval. The music had stopped and Santana's attention was on the Facts of Life re-run that was playing on the TV in front of her.

"I love this episode" Rachel gushed as she grabbed two glasses from the cupboard in the kitchen.

"I've said it once, and I will say it again: we've got to make this into a musical so I can play Jo- I was made to play that snarky bitch"

"Never heard a more true statement out of your mouth Santana… Wine?"

She called out to Santana, grabbing the bottle of red wine, that she had bought a couple of days earlier, off the counter. She was pretty confident that Santana never said no to alcohol. Rachel didn't make a habit of drinking, only a glass or two on weekends

She sat down on the couch next to Santana, pouring the wine, and handing a glass to Santana while Santana handed Rachel a plate. She smiled at the familiarity and ease that came from having Santana here. Astonishingly, it had been nearly twelve hours and they had avoided a major catfight. Rachel thought it was toast worthy.

They ate in relative silence, watching the show, both girls cheering when George Clooney's character was introduced. Rachel still couldn't help but have questions for Santana. _Where was Brittney? Why had she come back to New York? What was she planning on doing? How long was she staying for? _ However, Rachel knew that her and Santana's friendship had been a little unstable since the whole understudy drama, so she didn't want to push it with a million questions. Santana, now that she was back, was Rachel's only girl friend in the city- or elsewhere for that matter.

"So, Gunther wants to know if you want you old job back?"

Rachel mentioned, smirking slightly, knowing how much Santana had outwardly disliked working at the Diner. So much so that every chance she got, she would vocalize her apparent hatred for the place. Rachel suspected it was all a rouse though, and that she secretly didn't mind it- especially when Dani was still around.

"You have got to be kidding me, as much as I would love to spend my days cleaning up other peoples food scraps, dealing with blatant racist abuse from elderly Broadway darlings, and aspiring teen gays- I'm going to have to pass. You and I both know Santana Lopez is destined for great things"

Santana spat out sarcastically.

"No offence Berry "

Rachel should have expected nothing less, but was happy to get at least some insight into what Santana was thinking.

"But it's different for you..." Santana continued

"Surprisingly, despite your total and utter Broadway balls up, you actually have a career or, at the very best, the humble beginnings of one. I cannot drag myself back to that place, day in day out if I have nothing else going on"

"That was kind of nice... I think" Rachel said unsure, before finishing her pizza and tucking her legs underneath her, turning to Santana. The other girl remained silent, smiling sarcastically at Rachel and pouring herself more wine.

"Well, you know what you need-"

"Please god, if you say a _Rachel Berry 10 point plan_, I'm sorry but I will be forced to excuse myself for a moment to hang myself"

"Oh ha ha, laugh all you want but you and I both know that I attribute a large portion of my success to my ambition and strategic planning…" Rachel said, trying not to laugh. Because frankly, they both knew that Rachel's 'success' was somewhat laughable.

"You could always come back and be my understudy. We could work out some kind of schedule, you can take every other Tuesday and Friday, your mom and dad, your Abuela they could all come. Everyone was raving about your performance for weeks after. You even got a mention on Theatre Worlds Broadway- up-and-comers blog." Rachel mentioned excitedly after a while.

"Of course I did, I was flawless" Santana stated matter-of-factly. Rachel just nodded, knowingly. This was as good as it got with Santana, and she knew it.

"Well, I'll drink to that" Rachel said smiling, and raised her glass to Santana's. Santana clinked her glass against Rachel's and downed the remains of her wine.

"I appreciate it Berry, but as much as I hate to admit, I'm not quite ready to go another ten rounds with you just yet; I kind of like having at least one friend in New York City and with Lady Hummel gone, we're all we've got. Besides we both know that if I came back to Funny Girl, my role as understudy would be quickly upgrade to lead when I inevitably topple you." Santana said raising her eyebrows in a challenge. Rachel winced slightly and shook her head, hiding a smile.

"Too soon?" She asked when Rachel remained silent.

"You may just be right. In that case we need to find you a job as far away from St. James Theatre as possible, that way no one accidently whiteness all your incredible talents and kicks me to the curb." Rachel stated, doing her best to mimic Santana's unique sarcastic tone.

"Well I'll be, Rachel Berry is finally seeing things clearly… It must be the wine"


	3. Blackbird

"I don't know Kurt, you know what she's like, we had a total of maybe two, intelligent conversations in the year she lived here- three if you include her elaborate master plan to get rid of Brody"

Rachel was speaking in hushed tones, huddled in the corner of her "room". It was early Sunday morning, and the spring sunshine was creating kaleidoscope of shadows and light through the hollow apartment. It had been a week since Santana had moved back in, and two weeks since she had spoken to Kurt. He insisted that this was the only time their schedules would match up, even if it _was_ seven in the morning on a Sunday. The loft was quiet, and so was the city. Rachel thought she was just about the only person awake in the whole of Brooklyn. She was perched gracefully on the window to the fire escape, with her legs stretched out and her laptop on her knees.

" I know, but aren't you just a tiny bit curious about what she is doing there?"

"You mean apart from re-decorating?" Rachel teased, deflecting the question and watching Kurt's expression change from enthusiastic to horrified, on the glitchy screen in front of her. It was true, she was curious about what Santana was planning on doing, or what had happened to make her end up here, but Rachel's desire not to push the other girl trumped all her niggling questions.

"What did she do? I knew she couldn't be left unsupervised. Don't you remember what happened the first week she moved in? She went through all our stuff Rachel! Plus she basically blackmailed me into giving her more space in the bathroom. Dear god if I come back and a single thing is out of place, if I find a single pair of crotchless panties or a stripper bra in my vintage Portmanteau dresser I'll.." Kurt yelled through the computer, as if trying to make Santana hear him, from all the way across the apartment. Kurt's Internet threats were about as scary as him face-to-face threats.

"You'll…?" Rachel smirked, trying not to laugh. She knew how seriously Kurt took design, and flea market purchases, and Portmanteau, and Luddite, and linens… But there was no way that Kurt would take Santana on, not seriously anyway. But he had been known to get in screaming matches with other customers, at various Williamsburg furniture boutiques.

"When Santana's up I'll get her to give you the full skype walk –through, you're going to love it." Rachel said smiling sympathetically at her best friends somewhat heartbroken face.

" I must admit, you're being surprisingly casual about this surprise roommate, loft overhaul. Its uncharacteristically Rachel Berry- I don't know whether to be proud or concerned" Kurt's voice sounded, as Rachel turned her attention back to the screen. He raised his eyebrows in a silent questioning gesture.

"It's just nice to have someone else here, you know?" Rachel said quietly, sipping her tea.

".. And I really feel like Santana and I had some kind of breakthrough before everyone left, I mean she had my back when I screwed up the show, and then stuck around to try and pull my career out of the toilet… even if it did result in me getting dragged down Broadway by two Great Danes" Rachel announced, sounding more like her high school self, over analyzing every situation, and vocalizing it in a monologue rant to anyone who would listen. That was basically just Kurt… and Finn.

Rachel had to smile at her failed attempt at charity to save her almost non-existent reputation. _Broadway Bitches-_ absolutely terrible. They were silent for a while, Kurt just nodding and smiling at Rachel, a touch of sympathy crossed his face then disappeared just as quickly.

"Well, I'm glad it seems to be working out. But just so you know, I give it two, three, weeks tops. Face it Rachel, its inevitable- if there's one thing I learnt from living with both of you, I wish there was just one thing…" Kurt said as Rachel saw him cringe.

"… its that you and Santana are too similar to cohabitate. At least not without the guidance of a fully qualified, fully fabulous, best friend chaperone." He grinned from his seat in his cramped Chicago studio. Rachel recognized some of Kurt's things he'd taken with him from New York, in the background of the grainy digital picture; one of which was a framed photo taken in the loft last Christmas eve. Kurt had two drinks in his hands, and was grinning, bleary eyed at the camera, while Rachel and Santana laughed at something. Rachel was sipping eggnog from a straw, Santana raising hers in a silent toast. It really was a great picture. Even if two hours later Kurt was tied up with tinsel and their whole apartment was looted, by a sexy bi-curious Santa in a fireman's suit.

Rachel just smiled at Kurt's last comment, not sure she fully agreed with it. The two girls had spent four years of high school denying that they had absolutely anything in common, but Rachel would have been crazy to think that nothings changed. On more than one occasion she had recognized her own traits in Santana. They both had a determination and drive that was lost on many others. Granted, they used that determination in different ways: Rachel's for her career and her dreams. Santana's. Rachel had recently realized, for the people she loved.

Everything has changed. She never, in a million years, would have thought she'd end up here. Living in New York, yes; but not with Santana Lopez.

"You know Mercedes told me that Santana ended it." Kurt said in a hushed serious tone.

"Something about long distance never working…" He added.

Rachel just sighed and took it all in, silently.

"She's got a point I guess"

She said in a low murmur, not having much else to say, conscious of the other girl in the room across the way, and the fact that they only had curtains separating them. Rachel still didn't know if any of this was true but if it was; her heart went out to Santana. Everyone knew that Brittany meant more to Santana than anything else in the world. Nothing or no one had ever gotten that close to Santana.

Kurt fell silent on the other end of the line. Rachel knew he was thinking about Blaine. She glanced at the clock she could see through the gap in her curtain. It was positioned above the old piano against the exposed brick wall. They had talked for two hours. Kurt had given Rachel the update on the up and coming shows the company was producing, and what his new place was like. They spoke about the new Vietnamese restaurant Rachel had found on 31st street, and the reviews Funny Girl was getting on . Rachel had read one outstanding review out loud to Kurt, and they both gushed like twelve-year-old schoolgirls.

They said_ 'I miss you'_ to each other more than once, before saying their goodbyes, promising to Skype again soon, and signing off. Rachel closed her laptop and set it aside before getting up and making her way to the kitchen. She flicked the record player on her way past, and turned the volume to a mellow croon as too not wake Santana before her time. She was in the mood for a little Beatles this morning. Rachel set about making coffee, as she listened. She was barefoot in the kitchen wearing only an oversized sweater, her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, dark bangs falling around her face when she heard Santana emerge from her room and head to the bathroom.

"Morning flat-ass" Rachel heard as she poured two mugs of coffee. She didn't have to turn around to face Santana to know it was her. She just rolled her eyes and nodded, holding one mug over her shoulder for the other girl to take. Which she did, within a matter of seconds. Their morning routine was relatively smooth and well rehearsed, even after a week. Rachel knew that was mainly due to the fact that they had lived together for a year not that long ago, and they had fought tooth and nail then. But, also, a part of Rachel thought Santana was comforted by the familiarity from of the situation, and that's why she wasn't fighting it. They were the only two people left in the City- except for Artie. Rachel sensed that Santana needed the security and comfort of a friend as right now, just as much as Rachel did. Though Rachel was more than happy to vocalize that thought, she knew there was no way in hell that those words would come from Santana's mouth.

"Morning" Rachel greeted her sweetly, turning to face the other girl, leaning up against the kitchen bench and gripping her mug with both hands, letting its warmth radiate through her fingertips.

"Kurt says hi. " She added smiling at the topic of their conversation not half an hour ago.

She took a second to take in Santana, as she went about the kitchen looking for food. The Latina was wearing an old band t-shirt tied in a knot just above her hips and short shorts, her hair was loose and wavy. Rachel took her second and then focused on the music filtering slowly through the calm Sunday air.

_**Blackbird singing in the dead of night**_

_**Take these broken wings and learn to see**_

_**All your life**_

_**Your were only waiting for this moment to be free**_

"Ah, how is Our Lady of Chicago? I thought I heard his dulcet tones." Santana said, her voice sharp and dripping with sarcasm.

"Either that or I had arguably the weirdest, most disturbing sex dream ever…" Santana shook her head seriously, as if trying to get the thought physically from her head. This caused Rachel to laugh out loud at the ridiculousness of the situation.

"He's good, he's got a wager on how long it takes us to tear each others heads off" Rachel said biting back a huge grin, as she drinks the coffee. She watches as Santana shrugs it off, pulling out the eggs from the fridge and cracking them in a bowl.

"I've seen riskier bets. It's only a matter of time Berry. Maybe I should get in on that wager. How much is Hummel paying? God knows I could use the cash, and all it would take was one Broadway Berry smack down" Santana said matter-of-factly, with a mischievous look in her eye.

"Well call me crazy but I'm still holding out hope." She said downing her coffee and grabbing her handwritten notes she'd taken on last night's performance, and lounging on the couch.

"Well obviously you've never lived with you…" Rachel heard Santana say quickly

"I mean dear god, surely you realize how much time you could be saving if you were to sleep in the bathtub, that way you wouldn't have to cut into your morning, midmorning, afternoon, nightly, post nighttime moisturizing rituals by walking to the bathroom." Santana spoke in her typical sarcastic enthusiasm, like it was the greatest suggestion she'd ever had. A brilliant revelation.

" Oh yeah? Laugh it up, but without me- the sole provider for this household, you would be homeless, and hungry " Rachel argued quickly, stretching out her hands from her side, in a way she only ever does when she's singing or trying to make a point.

"Homeless but happy, it's the price I pay for peace and quiet." Santana sighed rolling her eyes as she stared to make an omelet, focusing on the frying pan in front of her.

"Oh yeah I hear the I95 underpass is super peaceful this time of year…"

Rachel laughed at her own joke, proud that she had gotten the last word. With Santana Lopez that was an extremely rare occurrence. Santana just scoffed, loudly letting Rachel know that it would never happen again.

...

Santana was four drinks deep at a dingy east side bar. Her head was beginning to ache, and she was acutely aware of how hard she was concentrating on the single action of bringing the glass of clear liquid to her lips. She tossed it back with the flick of her head, and put the empty glass back on the bar with a little too much force. She made eye contact with the bar tender and signalled for another, with all the seriousness she could muster. All she needed was some punk ass kid to cut her off, it was still early. She watched him through bleary eyes. He was probably about Santana's age, tall and pale, but he had strong shoulders. His hair was just long enough to fall in his eyes, dark. When he turned her way, she noticed he had a silver ring through his nose. Hey eyed her, skeptically, hesitating for about three seconds before pouring her another drink and happily taking her money. As happy as you can be when its four o'clock on a Sunday afternoon and your pouring drinks in a empty bar, for people who clearly having nothing better to do, or are seriously unstable. Santana being the former, obviously.

Who was she kidding, this was New York City; no one cared about you or your welfare. Except for maybe Rachel Berry. And as much as Santana hated to admit, Berry wasn't the worst person to have in your corner. Even if she was the poster child for completely neurotic, highly- strung, theatre obsessed, twenty somethings trying to make it big around the world.

This guy, though, didn't care whether or not she was passed out in a back alley, or face down in the dirty porcelain toilets. As long as she paid her tab, he was more than happy to keep pouring. To this guy, and this bar, Santana was just $28.50, and a pretty face to look at, maybe a nice rack if he was into that. But this was New York, and Santana took a cold comfort in a place that didn't give a shit about her. New York didn't expect anything of her, and she owed it nothing. She could just sit here, in this dirty bar at four o'clock on a Sunday afternoon, and a Monday afternoon, probably a Tuesday too, drinking cheap tequila, letting the world pass her by. Santana found comfort in that the city didn't stop moving around her. As she sat on this stool at the end of the bar, people were still finishing work and leaving on their afternoon commute, deli's were just opening and closing, there was a football game starting at the park, there was 17 Broadway shows starting at six. She was like a boulder in a fast moving stream; and that's how she wanted it. She was in control.

Just like she had been in control all through high school. Just like she had always been in control with Brittany.

That's why she ended it.

She downed her drink, quicker than the last. The guy with the nose ring poured her another.

...

It was late by the time Rachel got home from the diner. She had agreed to Gunther's extra shift, because the new girl Steph had an audition. She was excited for her, remembering how nervous she was auditioning for NYADA, and then Funny Girl; but a little part of her couldn't help but hope Steph would fall and cause herself some minor injury. She couldn't help it; competition was in her nature.

Sunday's were quiet at the diner, so Rachel spent time between taking orders and re-filling coffee to study the notes Rupert had given her on this morning's rehearsal. Everything had changed since she went to LA. Rupert out of everyone tried his hardest to still see Rachel as the big star he had called her after opening night. He was borderline infatuated with Rachel. To him, she had been everything he needed from Fanny Brice. She was dedicated, and professional. Rachel was beautiful and confident, but still young and naïve enough to believe that there was no reason all her dreams shouldn't come true. She was passionate and overly optimistic.

To Rachel, she was still all of these things as she crossed the street in the cold night air, and entered her apartment building. But to Rupert and the rest of the producers, she'd lost some of her 'star qualities'. She could see it in their eyes, and in the way they treated her. Sidney, who once thought she was a shining star, now thought she was selfish and proud. They still regarded her with total professionalism, but it was just different. Rachel had spent half and hour battling with Rupert at rehearsals about a minor alteration to a scene. It was tiny, so trivial. It was an entrance, Rachel thought it would be better to enter a scene a couple of seconds later, so that the audience could getter a better sense of Nicky's solitude. Her idea was squashed before it even got the chance to breathe. She knew it was a good idea. And what's worse is that she knew two months ago Rupert would have agreed with her, no questions asked. The message was clear; she was just their prop, and the sooner she just accepted that the easier it would be for everyone. Except Rachel.

She didn't realize it, but by the time she reached her door, Rachel was fuming. If she was just a prop, she should be easily replaceable, she thought, a simmering anger building up inside her. Except she was irreplaceable she was one of a kind, and she was born to play this role. Her anger was burning partly at herself for getting into this mess in the first place, and partly at Rupert and Sidney. Sure, what she did was selfish, and she shouldn't have lied about it; but she hadn't missed a performance in two months, and she was as close as you could get to perfection every night. If she was selfish and proud, they were petty and childish.

She slammed the door shut behind her. It was dark, which meant that Santana wasn't home. She silently reached for the spot where she knew the light switch was, and the kitchen was lit up. The clock on the wall read twelve midnight exactly. Rachel ate at the diner, so she wasn't hungry, but she poured her self a glass of wine and took it to her room to get changed- flicking on the record player on the way to drown out the silence. The sound of the Strokes bellowed through the loft as Rachel let her dress fall to the floor and sipped her wine, a little quicker than usual.

Her glass was empty by the time she had reached the kitchen. Her hair was out, and an absolute mess, she tied her Japanese silk robe loosely around her waist, and poured herself another.

...

Santana made it home after the time the clock struck two AM. As she crossed the street, and entered her apartment building she felt the tequila pulsing through her veins. It cursed through her body, creating a haze in her mind, casting a dull numbness over her as started to climb the stairs. She riffled through her purse, trying to find her keys. She fished them out and only dropped them twice before unlocking her door and pushing it aside. She stumbled across the threshold with a crash and chime of her keys being flung across the room in the dark. Santana took a second to center herself and take in her surroundings. The light in the kitchen was still on, casting a golden shadow over the open plan loft. _Nice one Berry,_ Santana thought as she stood stock still listening to her body for a second. She had a splitting headache and her stomach was churning. She's felt this way enough times to know the difference between being too far gone, and just being hungry. She was hungry. She shook her head, trying in vain to shake the pain in her temples, and pulled off her coat. The first step she took toward the kitchen was successful, as was the second. She stumbled on the third, and was sent crashing into the floorboards. Santana let out a pronounced giggle, the same you would hear from a 17 year old girl who's boyfriend had just jumped out the window just as her dad knocked. Her laughter was uncontrollable, but she had no idea why she was laughing.

"Santana?..." She heard a quiet voice from out of the darkness.

She stopped laughing, sitting up and searching with hooded eyes for the origin of the tired voice. There was silence.

"Are you there _God?_"

She choked out, bursting in to fits of laughter. In a second there was someone beside her, she felt a hand around her shoulder and one at her waist, hoisting her up.

" Alright… Come on, up we get" The voice mumbled as Santana put her weight on the smaller girl, nearly toppling back to the floor.

"You are _very_ small!" Santana said to no one in particular, feeling hands around her waist.

Santana fell into the closest chair, supporting herself on the kitchen table. She was still, but the kitchen, and all its utensils and appliances were moving around her. She felt two hands on either side of her shoulders, and could vaguely make out the shape of a person in front of her. She squinted for a while, as the shape slowly came into focus.

Dark bangs, pale lips, Japanese silk, dark sleepy eyes. Berry.

"Oh hey Grandma Berry!" She said, letting the drunken smile spread across her face.

Rachel disappeared from her view only to return a few seconds later. She had a jug of water, and a box of aspirin. Santana watched Rachel pour some water into a nearby glass, and pop out two aspirin from the shiny silver packet, and put them in Santana's hand. Santana flicked them in her mouth and took the glass; washing them down and setting it back on the table with all the concentration she could muster.

"Nice robe"

She smirked at the other girl, who was pouring more water into the empty glass. It was untied at the front, exposing Rachel's body in the pale kitchen light. An old tank top and black underwear; she obviously had just gotten out of bed. Santana couldn't seem to tear her bleary eyes away from the honey coloured skin of Rachel's flat stomach, momentarily uncovered as she reached for more water, refilling Santana's glass. Santana had never seen this much of Rachel.

She saw Rachel crack a smile, and pull her robe around her petite frame.

"Come on drink this" Was all Rachel said, as she put another glass in Santana's hand.

She downed the second glass and exhaled loudly in a tired sigh. She moved slowly, pulling her hair back off her face, and tying it in a knot at the base of her neck as Rachel poured her more water.

"I'm good, I'm fine, I'm fine" She heard her own voice stutter out, as Rachel put more water in her hand. She felt the cool glass at her palm as the other girl's hand left hers. She drank half of it, and set it back on the table.

"I'm fine, I'm just gonna make some nachos…" She slurred, trying to speak clearly.

Dammit. She paused for a second and met Rachel's gaze. She was looking at Santana through her dark eyelashes, eyebrows raised in a concerned yet comical way. Rachel looked like she was trying to be concerned and annoyed, but she was biting back a brilliant smirk.

"Do _you _want some nachos?" Santana asked Rachel seriously, sounding like her life depended on it.

Santana stood up slowly and took a second to get her balance, before using the outskirts of the table to guide her to the fridge.

"Easy Winehouse…' Rachel laughed, grabbing her around the waist again and pointing her in the direction of the couch. She felt Rachel giver her a little push, and she took a few steps before collapsing on the old couch. Rachel followed her, setting the glass of water on the coffee table.

"Drink that, and I'll get you something to eat"

"Nachos Berry! Nachos!" She yelled from her spot on the couch, fighting a losing battle with her shoes. She struggled to kick them off, and sighed with satisfaction when they fell on the floor beside the couch.

"I don't do nachos, but there is left over pizza that I am excellent at re-heating."

She heard Rachel reply, masked by the humming of the fridge as it opened. Santana groaned, as she felt her mind sway back and forth, a mellow buzz setting in. She noticed her head didn't feel like it was being split in half.

"… What kind of Mexican are you?" Santana scoffed quietly into her glass of water, laughing to herself.

...

Rachel rolled her eyes at the sound from the couch.

"_What kind of Mexican are you?"_

Santana had her eyes closed and looked like she was nodding along to a song playing in her head. Her normally straight lips were curled up in a lopsided grin.

"Obviously not a very good one" She replied as she set the re-heated pizza on the table and took a seat beside it.

"Well that's for _damn_ sure" Santana replied seriously, taking the pizza.

Rachel couldn't help but laugh.

"You're ok Berry. I don't mind, even if you can't cook nachos on demand…I mean it's a serious strike against your name… but you've got other talents that nearly make up for it… nearly" Santana rambled on.

"Oh yeah? Rachel couldn't wait to hear this.

" Your commitment to your moisturising routine is admirable... annoying, but admirable. you have somewhat normal feet… that tea you make doesn't taste _that_ bad… You're not as much of a control freak now as you were… before, you no longer dress like a toddler... " She trailed off.

"You can _sing_!" She said, eyes wide in revelation. She nodded silently at the other girl, and closed her eyes.

"That's it, you can sing…" She trailed off.

" Your ass looks _really_ good in yoga pants…" Santana managed to sigh out, right before she fell asleep.

Rachel couldn't help but smile shyly, as she raised her eyebrows in somewhat shock. That's definitely not what she expected to hear.

…...

Santana woke with a jolt. Like she had been asleep for years, and had finally been woken up. As soon as she opened her eyes she shut them again, rejecting the light coming in from the window. As soon as she opened her eyes she wished she could just close her eyes and go back to sleep for another hundred years. But with the throbbing in her head and the, feeling in her stomach she knew there was no way in hell that would happen. _Why was she on the couch? Wearing yesterdays clothes?_

Her mouth and throat was dry, and she had a terrible taste in her mouth. _Tequila._

She took a deep shaky breath.

"Noooo.." She winced slowly, willing the pain in her head to go away, desperately trying to make the room stop from spinning. She had never been on a boat, but she imagined this is what it would be like, only ten times worse.

"Yes"

She heard an unwelcome, and overly cheery voice cutting through the silence in the loft. Santana just groaned in disgust, partly with herself, but mainly with the volume at which Rachel seemed to always need to speak. She closed her eyes again, careful not to move a muscle willing herself to, once again, just go back to sleep.

"Good morning!" Rachel squawked, just like she had done every morning from the past two weeks, but somehow _today _she had the added ability of making Santana feel like someone was hammering nails into her head with ever word.

"Hush… shhhhh! Dammit Berry, inside voice" Her voice came out in a slow croak, huskier than usual.

_Definitely Tequila._

"This _is_ my inside voice"

"Of course it is…." Typical Berry.

"Is someone feeling a little tender this morning?"

Santana just groaned again, anything to make her stop talking. Stupid Berry.

"Well if you…"

"_Rachel,_ please…"

That seemed to do the trick. Santana heard her footsteps on the hardwood floor, they passed her and then she heard the drapes being drawn, and what sounded like a glass on the coffee table. But she was scared that if she opened her eyes her pupils might actually explode, so she didn't check.

The loft door was pulled shut, and she was left in peace.

…...

When she woke again it was darker than before. The drapes were still pulled, and there was hardly any natural light coming in from the street. Her eyes open, she now only felt a dull ache against her temples. She'd, somewhat successfully, slept it off. Santana sat up slowly, waiting for her dizziness to subside before she got up off the couch. The apartment was completely silent. She couldn't hear any of the subtle and not so subtle noises that confirmed Rachel's presence. The blow drier couldn't be heard from behind the bathroom door, she couldn't hear Rachel neurotically tapping her pen on the kitchen table as she read script notes; the record player was silent.

Damn she needed a shower… no- she needed food.

Santana bent over the kitchen sink drinking water straight from the faucet; just enough to get rid of her previously dry throat. She stood up straight, stretching out her neck with a crack. She _nearly_ swore right then and there to never drink again, but then realised that wasn't realistic, and she wasn't into setting herself up for _more_ failure. The state she was in, the headache, the slowly spinning room; she was a mess- and this was another perfect example of how bad she was failing at _'making it in New York". _

_Making it as what, exactly?_

She pushed these thoughts out of her mind as she spread butter on her toast. She ate three slices as fast as she could, and went to take a long, long shower. As she stripped of last nights clothes and tossed them in a pile in the corner, she battled with the voices that seemed to occupy her head. Not in a crazy way- just in a freaking annoying way. She heard her mom telling her how proud she was of her when Santana got the scholarship to Louisville, and the look on her Dad's face when she graduated. What a _grade A_ screw up she had become. She stepped under the shower and felt the hot water wash it all away: the look on her mom and dads face, Brittany, the words her Abuela had said, the unopened letter from NYU shed been carrying around since she got here, the tequila. It occurred to her that it hadn't been that long ago that she was walking down the halls of McKinley, with the highest hopes and expectations. She had never been so certain of anything: she was graduating, going to college on a full scholarship, not costing her parents a cent, her and Britt would be together after she graduated.

_How did everything go so wrong in such a short amount of time?_

She was living in New York, sure, but she was fumbling through life with nothing to show for it. _Except for maybe Berry._ Making amends with Rachel was one thing she didn't regret… about the only thing. And as much as she paid out on Berry, she wasn't judging her, and wasn't disappointed in Santana. Well not yet…the whole tequila episode might change things.

As she turned the shower off and stepped out into the cold, she felt grateful for Rachel Berry.

...….

Rachel was fighting a losing battle with sleep as she rode the subway back to Bushwick. It was late, just after 11, and shed just spent the last four hours in rehearsals with Bill and the rest of the cast. As if it wasn't bad enough that she had worked at the diner all day, after only a few hours sleep, then gone straight to the theatre; she had to spend half the time listening to Sidney giver her very specific and irrelevant feedback, when she should have been singing. She hardly made it through three complete songs without someone interrupting her and contributing their, unjustifiably negative, opinions. If she weren't so exhausted, she would be seriously pissed off.

She crossed the street and climbed the stairs. Those stairs would be the death of her. Every day around this time, after a long day, they were still there. Like a final test of her endurance and patience. The only comfort Rachel took in them was that beyond them was something glorious: a hot shower, and her bed.

Tonight, like every night, there was something brilliant beyond the stairs and behind the door- but it wasn't just her bed.

As Rachel pulled the door open, and practically fell into the loft, she was welcomed by the sound of music floating through the apartment, and something that smelled incredible. Rachel realized she hadn't eaten since lunch, and was starving. She dropped her bag on the side table and kicked off her shoes, leaving them by the door. Rachel sighed and took in the sight. Santana was standing barefoot in the kitchen stirring something in a large pot on the stove, bellowing out the words to the Beatles record playing. The kitchen table was set for dinner, plates, knives and forks, a vase with flowers in it, and there was even a single candle burning in the center.

"Oh hey girl how was rehearsal?

Rachel was pulled out of her trance, and her attention was drawn to the other girl. Santana was eyeing her expectantly.

"Hey…uh it was fine. What's all this?" Rachel asked, her curiosity peaking as she went to examine the sweet smelling contents of the pot.

"This is the '_I'm sorry for coming home drunk in the middle of the night and acting like an ass' _apology dinner… and you my friend, are the guest of honour"

The look on Santana's face told her she was serious, and was sorry. That was good enough for Rachel, plus the food smelled incredible.

"Santana this is totally not necessary, but really sweet. Oh god I'm so hungry… it looks amazing! Thank you."

Rachel went off to shower and change, with a newfound enthusiasm in her stride.  
When she came back to the kitchen Santana was dishing up pasta, salad, and garlic bread. Rachel poured some tea out of the pot, and took her mug to the table, sitting and staring at the food.

"Help yourself" Santana said filling her glass, with water Rachel noticed, before taking a seat opposite her.

Rachel couldn't help but let out a wide smile, as she dished up plenty of food on her plate. They ate in relative silence, Rachel was exhausted and Santana was probably still hungover. When they were done, Rachel sipped her tea and watched Santana closely, wondering what was going through her head, the old questions came flooding back through her mind. After a while Rachel broke the silence:

"Well it wasn't Nachos… but it was amazing, thank you"

Rachel had a huge smirk on her face, and Santana just looked confused.

"Uh thanks… I guess" She replied and started to clear the plates, setting them in the sink.

Rachel couldn't help but laugh out loud, staring at Santana.

"Oh my god you have no idea what you said last night do you?" Rachel squealed more than asked.

"Hold up Berry, I have no clue what you are talking about. At least give a girl the _previously on_"

"Last night.."

She saw Santana cringe involuntarily. Surely she remembered. The look on her face made Rachel laugh even more.

"You were telling me that you were hungry and that you were fine, that you were just going to make some nachos… at two in the morning, and I helped you to the couch and told you I'd get you some food. But you didn't want anything except for nachos. Then there was some talk of what a bad Mexican I would make… which is true, I definitely don't have the correct skin pigment for Mexico…"

Rachel watched as Santana sighed and put her head on the kitchen table. She tried her best to choke back her laughter; unsuccessfully at first but after a few moments she recovered.

"You want to tell me what that was all about?" Rachel started, reaching across the table, putting a tentative hand on Santana's shoulder.

"Well obviously I had a mad hankering for some nachos…"

"Not that… The drinking tequila, alone in the middle of the afternoon"

Santana sat up and took a swig of the water in front of her.

"What's going on Santana?"

"You mean apart from me absolutely crapping the bed at life right now?" Santana said with a fake, somewhat ironic smile on her face, eyebrows raised.

"You're not '_crapping the bed',_ you're just figuring out what you want to do… right?" Rachel asked, unsure. She admitted to herself that she had no idea what Santana was doing with her life, but she thought Santana must have had some idea. The other girl shrugged, trying to brush off the question.

"You'll figure it out, Santana. You're the one who kept telling us how you are destined for great things, and I have no doubt you'll find that greatness. Next to me, you're the most determined, and driven person I know- a little ruthless too, that's a pretty decent combination…You cant _not_ be successful"

"You also have this giant, crazy talent- which I know you haven't forgotten…"

She saw Santana nod silently, a silent laugh escaping her lips for only a second.

"…don't be afraid to use it" Rachel finished, eyeing the other girl. She never knew where she stood with Santana, never knew if she'd overstepped the blurry lines of their new friendship. The other girl was still sitting opposite her, so that was something.

Santana nodded silently at Rachel for a second before speaking up.

"Okay, its' getting a little _Mr Shue-y_ in here, tone it down on the pep talks Berry, or are you practicing for your future in inspirational speaking, for when your Broadway career inevitably flops?"

And just like that Santana put her wall back up. Rachel was too tired to care, and deep down she knew Santana appreciated what she had said. If she hadn't, they wouldn't be sitting here after enjoying a mean Santana had cooked, as a 'thank you'. Rachel thought she was finally beginning to understand how the other girl operates.

She scoffed at Santana's joke, her mind ticking over, silently deciding her next move.

"Oh yeah? Well let's not forget the charming little pep talk you gave last night shall we…" Rachel challenged, smirking at the other girl.

She once again saw confusion flood over Santana's face, then a look that told her she was trying her hardest to remember what had happened last night. Rachel got up from the table, and blew out the candle.

"I have no idea what you're talking about…" Santana replied putting the rest of the dishes in the sink, deciding to leave them until the morning. Rachel picked up her bag from the floor where she had left it hours ago, smiling to herself.

"Something about how great a singer I am…" She teased, picking up her shoes and looking over she shoulder at Santana who had a blank look on her face.

"Oh are you _completely_ sure you weren't dreaming Berry?"

Rachel smiled knowingly at Santana. The look on the other girls face told Rachel that she was starting to remember last nights conversation. Satisfied, Rachel clicked off the light in the kitchen, leaving the loft lit only by the lamp sitting near the couch, and made her way to her bedroom. Before she was out of Santana's sight, she spoke again, she couldn't help herself.

"Something about how _fantastic_ my ass looks in yoga pants…"

And with that Rachel left Santana standing in the dark, the record player still was crackling sweet and low.

_**All your life**_

_**You were only waiting for this moment to be free**_


	4. Closer

_**A/N: **So hey, thanks for reading this story._

_I don't completely know where this story is heading, but i'm enjoying figuring it out- i hope you are too. _

_If you want to tell me what you think, that would be pretty rad._

* * *

_**Closer.**_

"Okay _guess_ who just got a job tending bar at the Coyote Ugly Saloon down on first street!"

Rachel looked up from the coffee she was pouring and towards the door. She watched as Santana charged into the diner. The words broke through the silence in Rachel's mind.

"Piper Perabo? God knows her acting career peaked a decade ago…" Rachel quipped, as she mindlessly filled the woman at 23s coffee. Looking over her shoulder as Santana came storming excitedly into the diner. She saw Santana fake an exaggerated laughed, and nod at her.

"When did you become so comical Berry? Okay! Intervention time, it was only a matter of time, I'm surprised it's taken _this _long…" Santana muttered to herself, her eyes still on Rachel.

Rachel heard Santana, her voice was buzzing with excitement. Santana put her hands on either side of Rachel's shoulders, and gave her a serious look. Rachel took a second to admire the girl in front of her. She wondered if she had ever been this close to Santana. She could see every look, every quiver, every freckle and scar.

Rachel made a mental note to find out how Santana got the tiny scar above her lip.

_How had she not noticed that before?_

Probably the same reason she hadn't noticed her eyes. Rachel faltered for a second, frowning at the other girl. She focused on the dark eyes, now staring at her. They were smoky and piercing, with the ability to cut through all Rachel's outer layers in seconds.

_What is she talking about?_

"I think you've taken the whole "funny girl" thing _waaay_ out of context. _Yes_, you are currently starring in a play called Funny Girl; and _no,_ this should be in no way interpreted as a reflection of your own personality. Which we both know is somewhat lacking in areas… Namely behavior typical of the average normal human being. You see it not actually about a girl who is… "

"Alright alright, as much as I'd love to stay and chat about the ins and outs of my already _widely_ successful Broadway career, these plates aren't going to scrub themselves" Rachel scoffed, shaking off Santana's hands and rolling her eyes at the other girls antics.

"There's a sentence I'd never thought I'd say…"

She trailed of as she went about clearing an empty booth. Santana, a wide grin still plastered across her face, perched herself on the counter and grabbed the coffee pot out of Rachel's hand as she passed her on the way to the kitchen.

"Hey! Make yourself at home" Rachel joked as she emerged from the kitchen again, carrying two plates of food to table 17. Santana was reaching behind the counter to where she knew the clean mugs were kept, and then preceded to pour herself coffee from Rachel's pot.

"Don't mind if I do. Just remember who you're talking to now Berry: New York's newest Coyote!" She yelled the _'coyote', _and let out a loud howl. Rachel quickly glanced around the diner, trying to gauge the reaction of the people scattered at the tables. Santana received a few strange glances, and shakes of the head- but no one seemed to care too much. This was New York City after all. Santana definitely didn't care.

Rachel watched as Santana choked back her laughter, her long legs swinging from her spot on the bar. Rachel couldn't help but notice Santana's tight dress ride up from her hips as she sat dinking her coffee. She had knee high leather boots on, and a tight red and black dress that, in true Santana style, looked like it was painted on. She looked ever bit a _coyote_.

She took a split second to admire the smooth contours of Santana's tanned legs, before quickly turning her attention back to the patrons of the diner. It was late afternoon on a Tuesday. They had just finished serving the lunchtime rush, and the diner was now settled in a pre dinner lull. Cami and Jesse had left half an hour ago, leaving just Rachel and the chef Stu to serve the remainder of the customers. As Rachel's gaze travelled from never-ending legs, to the kitchen window, Santana caught her eye cocking an eyebrow in a question.

Rachel felt a heat rise from her neck to her cheeks, and then pass seconds later. _Thank God._

"Was that your audition?" Rachel asked brushing off the other girls questioning gaze, and taking a seat on the glossy red stool next to her, putting her elbows on the bar behind her and drawing circles with her nose, stretching out the cricks in her neck.

She heard Santana scoff next to her, sliding off the counter effortlessly and landing on the stool next to Rachel.

"Believe me you don't want to _know_ what I had to do to get the job" She said matter of factly.

"… Or on second thoughts, maybe you do." She added, in a slow whisper nudging Rachel's ribs with her elbow. Obviously Rachel wasn't as discrete as she had hoped. _Shit!_ She looked to Santana and met her gaze. She couldn't read the expression on the other girls face. There was something behind those eyes. Like a secret that was bursting to come out, but Santana wouldn't let it. They sat there for what seemed like eternity, neither of them wanting to give each other the satisfaction of looking away first. Rachel was the one who finally turned away.

"Well I might go home, my shifts finished…" Rachel said getting up off the stool with a satisfied smirk on her face. She turned her back to Santana and looked over her shoulder, almost beaming.

"…Maybe do some yoga if you're interested?" Rachel teased. She couldn't help herself. She didn't giver herself the satisfaction of looking back to see the other girls reaction. She went behind the counter to clock off and say goodbye to Stu. As Santana just sat finishing her coffee, silently cursing Rachel.

"Nuh uh Berry, not tonight. You are not going home to wallow, there is only so many times I can stand idly by as you listen to Carole King records and gaze hopelessly into the night, in search of God only knows what…" Santana jumped off her stool and linked arms with Rachel, dragging her out of the quiet diner into the soft light of dusk.

" We are _young_, and in New York City, and my new, bad ass job deserves to be celebrated in true Coyote Ugly style. That means no weepy, dead singer- songwriters, no good grandma bath salts, no herbal tea, and _definitely_ no clothes that look like they've been stolen from the set of Peter Jackson's new movie about the life of a metropolitan hobbit in the big city"

….

Three hours later Rachel and Santana were entering a crowded bar across town.

Like most bars in Williamsburg, from the street it didn't look like much. The windows were boarded up in a seemingly careless way, but Santana knew that it was probably done with the upmost care and intent. There were no signs, just the word Maracuja written above the door, in what looked like black marker. There was a stone-faced guy stooping as he sat on a stool by the door. He nodded at the two women as they walked in.

The place was small; cozy and packed at 9 o'clock on a Tuesday night. As they crossed the threshold Santana took in the scene. The music was loud and scratchy: imperfect. She was confronted by the size of the place. It looked like it could have once been some old New York mobsters front room of his house, converted to a bar when prohibition hit. It more than likely was. To the right, an old maroon leather couch stretched its way along the wall. There were small round tables set out in front of it, piled with drinks and empty glasses. People were spilling out of their seats, sitting side by side with friends and strangers. The bar itself was old mahogany, it was understated, and blended in perfectly. People were leaning up against the bar, each one with a different story; ordering drinks, flirting, watching the football game on the screen in the corner. Santana couldn't stop the smile form forming on her face.

They pushed through the people crowding the doorway, welcoming and fare welling friends and lovers. They reached the bar, Santana in front, Rachel was looking around the small crowded room, a knowing smile on her face. They were forced closer to each other as they waited to be served, the people around them coming and going to the sound of the music. Santana ordered drinks, two small glasses, clear liquid, and handed one to Rachel smirking.

"Bottoms up Berry!"

She said, raising her glass in a silent toast.

She had to yell to be heard over the noise, even though Rachel was closer to her than she would usually be, _or ever had been._

She saw Rachel open her mouth in protest, but watched as she decided to stay silent. Santana saw the gears tick over in her head as she took the shot glass. Then she saw something in the other girl's eyes that she hadn't seen in a long time. It was the same look she recognized the night her and Rachel had planned to put Kurt's hand in warm water as he slept: complete and utter mischief. Santana had to admit; it looked good on her.

Rachel raised her glass to silently meet Santana's, an agreement, and mutual understanding. They drank the shot in relative unison. Rachel hesitates for a split second later. They slammed the glasses back down the bar, and Santana ordered two beers.

They waded through the hive of people. Santana dodged and weaved through the moving crowd, taking in the décor of the place. She noticed the walls were lined with old photographs of the neighborhood. The ceilings were sunken and low, the low fi music radiated off the old rusted streetlights that were perched high on the dark walls. She noticed there was a small stage, about the size of two freight pallets, tucked away at the end of the bar.

They sat on a high bench that skirted around the outside of the room, their legs dangling freely beside one another. They squished in close to each other, Santana reminded herself that it was only because the place was crowded, and the guy on the other side of her kept elbowing her while he was trying to make his point. _Tool._

"Well cheers, here's to New Yorks newest Coyote!"

Rachel spoke, raising her beer to Santana's and acknowledging her achievement. Santana took a long pull of her beer and looked around the room. This was her place. She hadn't felt this at ease in a long time. The music was loud, the people were carefree and close, the walls were dirty, and the booze was sharp. She took another sip of her beer, before Rachel went to order another round.

…...

"Come on! When have you ever shied from a duet! We have to sing! We're doing it, we are"

Rachel heard the words come out of her mouth; her voice was loud and full of life. She had just finished her third beer, and was beginning to feel a warm glow. That soft buzz that came over her boosted her confidence into thinking that her and Santana should sing. The band had started to play a while ago; they weren't bad. She knew Santana was enjoying it, because her leg hadn't stopped jittering for half an hour. They were edgy but their lead singer had a mellow, upbeat tone. His voice cut through the small room like a garrote.

"Hate to break it to you Dorothy, but we're not on Broadway anymore. You can't just demand to sing with any band, anywhere, at anytime- regardless of what your doting dads tell you."

Santana smirked at her, doing her best to squash her idea. Not for any reason in particular reason, except for the fact that it was in her nature. Rachel downed the last of her drink, and jumped up off her seat, leaving the space next to Santana free.

"Well we'll just see about that won't we?" She challenged the other girl. She was renewed with a sense of determination and purpose. Something, she had realized over the last few weeks that Santana brought out in her. She thought it was the constant need to get one up on the girl who had beat her so many times in the past… _Or just her extreme competitive nature. _

Rachel disappeared through the crowd of people in the direction of the stage.

…...

They had no introduction, there was no "Hi my name is Rachel Berry and I'll be singing… ". Rachel dragged Santana up on stage and they seemingly fit perfectly with the band. No one flinched, no one cared. This was New York City. Rachel was beaming at the band, and then turned to look at Santana. She had this look on her face; the same on she got when she was on stage in the theatre, or when they were about to go on at nationals with the glee club. She thought that Rachel had never looked so good. Maybe it was the bar, or the beer, or her new job, or the _opened_ letter from NYU that now sat on her dresser. Whatever it was; she was on a high.

They were squashed on this tiny stage in this perfect bar. Santana downed her beer, and put the empty bottle on the skirting board with a row of other empty glasses and rubbish. Rachel tossed her a microphone and she adjusted the mic stand. The guy who was singing lead before was leaning in close over his guitar to say something to Rachel. She nodded and the music kicked in.

She heard the drums beating steady, the sound of synths, and high-pitched guitar riff crackled out of the amp behind Santana's legs. She couldn't help but move to the music. It was fast and loud and rough, and raw. Then Rachel started to sing:

_**All I want to get is, a little bit closer**_

_**All I want to know is, can you come a little closer?**_

She watched as Rachel whispered into the microphone, a sexy smile forming on her lips, as she looked out across the room, and back to Santana. Santana grabbed her mic and sung the next lines with Rachel.

_**Here comes the breath before we get a little bit closer**_

_**Here comes the rush before we touch, come a little closer**_

_**The doors are open, the wind is really blowing**_

_**The night sky is changing overhead**_

The guys in the band picked up the tempo, and the drums kicked in double time as they bellowed out the chorus. Santana watched Rachel move out of the corner of her eye. She was dancing around excitedly, singing to the guitarist, and reaching out to ruffled his hair playfully. Santana couldn't seem to tear her eyes away from the other girls lips as she sung. Santana felt herself gravitate towards the other brunette occupying the tiny stage. Rachel turned back to Santana, leaning her mic stand in her direction and singing to her; she had fire in her eyes.

_**It's not just all physical**_

_**I'm the type who won't get oh so critical**_

_**So let's make things physical**_

_**I won't treat you like you're oh so typical**_

_**I won't treat you like you're oh so typical**_

The drums mellowed into the verse, as Santana smirked at Rachel, then at the crowd, whose attention was now well and truly on the stage. She moved her head from side to side with the sound of the synth and sung the next lines, shaking her ass playfully.

_**All you think of lately is getting underneath me**_

_**All I dream of lately is how to get you underneath me**_

She couldn't help but look Rachel in the eye when she delivered the line. Rachel smirked back at her, her pale lips, moving as she sung the next line, her hair falling in her face as she met Santana's gaze. She noticed a warmth rising up from her stomach, spreading over her chest and coming out in her voice as she sang.

_**It's not just all physical**_

_**I'm the type who won't get oh so critical**_

_**So let's make things physical**_

_**I won't treat you like you're oh so typical**_

_**I won't treat you like you're oh so typical**_

_**I want you close, I want you**_

_**I won't treat you like you're typical**_

_**I want you close, I want you**_

_**I won't treat you like you're typical**_

They finished the song, both with cheesy smiles plastered on their faces.

...

They were sitting at an old converted picnic table in the bars tiny courtyard. The ground was covered in old, worn pavers and there was strings of fairy lights hanging motionless in the garden. Creepers and vines covered all the external walls, stretching up high over the fence and up the wall of the adjoining walls. There were only a few tables that occupied the space, but they were still piled on top of each other. It was quieter; the music could still be heard clearly as well as the sounds of the party picking up inside. There were old rusted lanterns on the tables, and as Santana looked around she noticed white roes blooming in the shadowy darkness.

She sat at the end of the bench seat, with the guys from the band and some of their friends. Rachel was squeezed in close to her, their legs lightly touching unconsciously under the table. Rachel and Santana had come out here with more beers, while the band played the rest of their set. They were both still buzzing off their impromptu performance and the alcohol. Santana felt warm and completely at ease.

_This is why she drank_. _Or did Rachel make her feel like this?_

They sat close and ate BBQ tofu and kimchee with chopsticks and drank more beer, before the band came out to join them. They all squeezed onto the picnic table, forcing Rachel and Santana closer.

"So _you two_ were in high school glee club together?" Matt , the guy singing lead, choked out in disbelief as he took a long swig from his beer. He was maybe a few years older than Rachel and Santana, she didn't know what to make of him yet. He had an odd 'boy next door' charm but he had piercing blue eyes and she noticed the dark line of a tattoo stretching out from under his t shirt. His hair was messy, and his face was unshaven. His skin was a light honey color, like he spent a lot of time in the sun, he definitely wasn't your typical Brooklyn nocturnal muso who only came out after dark.

Rachel nodded, and elbowed Santana playfully in the ribs.

"I just never would have pick that, you're too…" He trailed off gazing at Rachel.

"Badass? Talented? Hot?" Santana teased

Matt and the rest of the guys just laughed and nodded.

"Well obviously high school glee club in Ohio has a lot to answer for…" The drummer Dylan joked, raising his drink in a salute.

"… and for that we thank you" He finished, downing his beer.

Cheers broke out across the table and Santana just nodded and gestured to take a mini bow. Rachel broke out in laughter beside her.

"So Rachel's this big Broadway star with this edgy classic energy. So that makes Santana.…"

Matt trailed off hoping Santana would fill in the blanks. She hesitated, taking another sip of her beer. _A coyote. Homeless. Confused. _

"That makes_ Santana _a music major at NYU, a triple threat, with a killer voice and moves to match" She heard Rachel say proudly from beside her.

_What?_

_How did she know about NYU?_

Santana's head snapped in her direction, as the guys from the band nodded, impressed. Rachel just shrugged it off, and smiled at her warmly, raising an eyebrow in a familiar challenge. She knew Santana wouldn't want to get into it here and now. _Damn her._

"Well… a toast! To the Broadway baby and the triple threat!" Matt raised his beer high in another toast. Everyone at the table raised their drinks, and a cacophony of sounds erupted from the clinking of glass and laughter.

Rachel just smiled sweetly, and drank with the rest of them. Santana bit back a grin and nudged Rachel playfully with her shoulder.

_**Here comes the breath before we get a little bit closer**_

_**Here comes the rush before we touch, come a little closer**_


End file.
